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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE   HISTORY 


OF 


ONE-DAY-OUT-OF 


SEVENTEEN  THOUSAND, 


BY 


JUDGE  NUTTING. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  CAROLINE  S.  KING. 


OSWEGO,  N.  Y.  : 

R.    J.    OI.IPHANT,    PRINTER    AND    STATIONER. 
1889. 


i>/\  33 

Nil 


THE  OLD  PILL-LOCK  GUN 


4-Iov/  I  filled  my  Pir^t 


1WAS  a  farmer's  boy  and  lived  on 
the  old  farm  where  I  was  born. 
This  old  homestead,  the  dearest  spot 
in  all  the  world  to  me,  was  about  mid- 
way between  Lake  Ontario  and  Oneida 
Lake.  A  swift  running  spring-brook, 
called  "South  Branch  of  Little  Sal- 
mon," formed  the  southern  boundary 
of  the  farm  for  the  distance  of  a  hun- 
dred rods  or  more.  Our  house  stood 
upon  a  hill,  and  the  farm  of  over  a 
hundred  acres  took  in  not  only  the  hill 
but  the  interval  land  commencing  at 
the  foot  and  stretching  southward  to  the  creek  above 
named.  The  farther  bank,  of  that  beautiful  stream  was 


M313035 


4  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

father's  south  line  for  a  long  distance.  This  interval  we 
called  the  "  Flat."  It  was  a  beautful  piece  of  land,  easy 
of  tillage  and  exceedingly  fertile. 

When  I  was  a  boy  ten  years  of  age,  October,  1850, 
this  part  of  the  town  of  West  Monroe  was  comparatively 
a  new  country.  The  original  forests  still  covered  a  large 
part  of  that  section.  Indeed,  my  father's  farm  was  sur- 
rounded with  woods.  Several  small  farms,  and  two  as 
large  as  father's,  were  in  the  same  clearing,  but  you  could 
stand  on  the  hill  near  our  house  and  look  about  you  to 
every  point  of  the  compass  and  your  vision  would  meet 
the  large  trees  of  maple,  birch,  beech  and  hemlock  which 
had  been  there  for  centuries.  On  a  clear  day  this  was  a 
beautiful  landscape  ;  woods  all  about  you,  with  here  and 
there  a  neighbor's  house,  barn  and  apple  orchard  in 
sight ;  and  at  one  point,  away  southward,  you  could 
plainly  see  the  glistening  waters  of  the  "  South  Branch." 

We  lived  in  a  large,  wood-colored  house,  with  two 
wings.  It  had  a  big  chimney,  which  was  so  placed  as  to 
accommodate  the  whole  house.  This  chimney  reached  far 
above  the  highest  point  of  the  roof.  At  the  top  the  flue  was 
as  large  as  the  head  of  a  big  barrel.  It  reached  to  the 
kitchen,  where  there  was  an  immense  fire-place.  It 
reached  to  the  square  room,  or  parlor,  where  there  was  a 
smaller  fire-place,  and  it  reached  to  the  guest's  bedroom 
where  there  was  a  still  smaller  fire-place.  So,  in  fact, 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  5 

this  chimney  had  a  large  base  and  in  it  were  the  three 
fire-places. 

The  old  kitchen  was  the  place  for  fun  in  winter  time. 
Sometimes  when  the  weather  was  cold  and  stormy  we 
would  trim  the  kitchen  fire-place  with  evergreens.  These 
would  not  last  long,  but  would  make  the  great  blazing 
fire  look  very  nice  for  a  time.  When  the  wind  howled 
and  the  snow  filled  the  air  at  night  we  would  put  a  huge, 
round,  solid  beech,  birch  or  maple  log  in  the  fire-place 
for  a  "  back-log."  This  would  be  a  foot  and  a  half 
through  and  seven  or  eight  feet  long.  You  should 
have  seen  the  fire  we  could  build  with  such  a  log  for  a 
starter.  We  would  pile  on  the  hard  wood  chips  and 
splinters,  pieces  of  birch  bark  and  sometimes  pine  knots. 
The  fire  would  reach  far  up  the  chimney  and  would  roar 
and  crackle  at  a  great  rate.  The  whole  kitchen,  to  the 
farthest  corner,  would  be  thoroughly  warmed  and  lighted 
by  it. 

The  kitchen  was  very  large,  and  had  a  big,  square 
post,  painted  red,  standing  in  the  center.  The  games 
and  pranks  we  played  about  this  old  post,  at  these  times, 
still  linger  in  my  memory  like  the  aroma  of  flowers. 

I  commenced  this  story,  however,  to  tell  you  about 
the  "Old  Pill-lock  Gun,"  and  the  first  partridge  I  ever 
killed. 

My  father  had  two  guns  at   this  time.     One  was  a 


6  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

single-barrelled  fowling  piece,  which  would  weigh  about 
six  pounds  and  a  half.  Its  stock  was  old,  and  did  not  fit 
very  well.  It  had  a  round,  bronzed  barrel,  and  it  was  a 
curious  fire-arm,  you  may  be  sure.  It  would  shoot  like 
the  mischief,  when  properly  loaded,  however.  Father 
had  killed  many  a  fine  bag  of  game  with  it  in  days  gone 
by. 

The  old  "  Pill-lock"  was  the  most  striking  and  curious 
thing  about  this  gun.  The  cylinder  that  went  into  the 
barrel  at  the  breech,  was  like  that  of  any  muzzle  -loading 
gun,  except,  perhaps,  it  was  a  trifle  larger.  In  the  place 
of  the  nipple,  which,  in  a  cap  lock,  receives  the  percus- 
sion cap,  there  was  a  hole  in  the  top  of  the  cylinder. 
The  lock  and  hammer  were  like  those  in  an  ordinary  gun, 
except  that  the  hammer  was  pointed  at  the  end,  and  the 
point  fitted  into  the  hole  in  the  cylinder.  The  firing  per- 
cussion was  in  the  shape  of  a  pill,  about  the  size  of  the 
small,  round  sugar  pills,  used  by  doctors  to  cure  sick 
people,  and  these  pills  were  black,  and  were  kept  and 
carried  in  a  goose  quill.  When  the  gun  was  loaded,  we 
were  careful  to  see  that  the  powder,  which  had  been  put 
in  the  gun,  came  in  sight  in  the  hole  in  the  cylinder,  and 
then  we  took  one  of  the  little  black  pills  from  the  goose 
quill,  and  put  it  in  the  hole  so  that  it  would  rest  on  the 
bottom,  where  the  point  of  the  hammer  would  strike  it, 
and  create  the  fire  that  reached  the  powder  in  the  gun, 
and  explode  the  charge. 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  J 

There  was  another  gun,  which  was  called  the  "smooth 
bore."  It  had  a  shorter  and  thicker  barrel,  and  had  once 
been  a  rifle.  It  had  been  bored  out,  and  would  now 
shoot  either  shot  or  a  large  ball.  This  gun  had  a  better 
stock,  which  reached  clear  to  the  muzzle.  It  was  fitted 
with  a  cap  lock,  and  was  considered,  by  all  who  had  ever 
seen  it  shoot,  a  first-class  gun. 

The  two  guns  hung  in  the  kitchen,  side  by  side,  on 
wooden  hooks,  which  had  been  made  by  father,  from 
crooked  branches  of  a  tree,  and  nailed  to  the  ceiling. 
These  two  guns  were  loaded,  as  a  rule,  the  year  'round. 

Father  knew,  very  well,  how  to  care  for  a  gun,  and 
how  to  shoot  both  rifle  and  shot-gun.  He  had  moved  to 
the  old  farm  when  it,  and  the  surrounding  country,  were 
covered  with  forests.  The  woods  were  then  full  of  bears, 
deer,  wolves  and  other  animals,  and  he  had  learned  to 
handle  a  gun,  and  shoot,  as  well  from  necessity  as  pleas- 
ure. Father  was  a  young  man  then,  and  now  his  hair 
and  beard  had  begun  to  turn  gray.  It  was,  even  now,  a 
very  dangerous  thing  for  a  hawk  to  attempt  to  make  a 
dinner  of  our  chickens  when  father  was  about.  Nine 
times  out  of  ten  the  hawk  would  pay  the  penalty  of  his 
daring  with  his  life. 

The  deer  and  bears  had,  been  driven  away  and  killed 
off,  and  father's  love  for  hunting  had  to  be  satisfied  by 
capturing  smaller  game.  He  loved  to  hunt  partridges 


8  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

when  the  fall  came  on  and  the  farm  work  had  been  fin- 
ished. When  the  potatoes  had  been  dug  and  put  away 
in  the  cellar ;  when  the  apples  had  been  carefully  picked 
and  barrelled  for  winter;  when  the  corn  had  been  husked 
and  piled  in  a  great  yellow  heap  in  the  crib,  and  when 
the  wood  for  winter  had  been  housed,  then  it  was  that 
the  old  hunting  fever  came  on  and  the  partridge,  wood- 
cock and  squirrel  had  to  hide  carefully  or  they  were  gone. 
For  two  or  three  years  in  the  fall,  father  had  let  me 
go  with  him  on  these  hunting  trips.  I  had  not  been 
allowed  to  carry  a  gun,  though  I  fairly  ached  to  do  so. 
When  I  first  commenced  to  go  on  these  hunting  trips,  I 
was  so  small  that  father  some  times  helped  me  over  large 
logs,  piles  of  brush  and  muddy  places.  I  had  fired  the 
old  pill-lock  gun  a  few  times  to  scare  the  crows  from  the 
corn  or  at  a  flock  of  pigeons  passing  over,  but  I  had  as 
yet  only  learned  the  a,  b,  c  of  gun  lore.  With  my  limited 
experience  and  few  years,  I  was  on  this  October  morning 
to  have  a  gun  fully  loaded  and  was  to  commence  hunting 
in  earnest.  Father  had  told  me  this  while  caring  for  the 
chores  that  very  morning.  When  breakfast  time  came 
and  we  all  sat  about  the  table,  I  found  that  my  appetite 
had  failed ;  the  excitement,  caused  by  the  expected  hunt, 
had  taken  away  the  desire  for  food.  My  father  had 
noticed  this  and  said,  "  Young  man,  you  must  eat  a  good 
breakfast  so  that  you  will  be  strong  for  the  tramp,"  and 
in  obedience  I  managed  to  follow  the  advice. 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  9 

Breakfast  was  over  and  yet  the  sun  was  hardly  in  sight 
over  the  tall  trees  on  the  highlands  to  the  eastward.  The 
dew  which  had  gathered  during  the  night,  still  glistened 
among  the  grasses  of  the  low  lands  like  diamonds,  when 
I  heard  father  whistle  for  "  Snap,"  a  beautiful  little 
spaniel,  who  came  bounding  and  barking  into  the  house. 
Father  reached  up  and  lifted  the  "Old  Pill-lock  Gun"  off 
the  hooks  and  carefully  placed  it  in  my  hands.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  feelings  of  pride  and  happiness  which  swept 
over  me  as  I  took  that  gun. 

Father  said,  "There  is  a  gun,  loaded  with  death 
and  destruction.  You  are  to  be  a  hunter  in  earnest  to- 
day. I  have  lost  my  boy  to  carry  game,  but  I  have  found 
a  brave  hunter."  As  he  said  this  his  face  lighted  up  with 
a  smile  and  he  reached  up  and  took  from  the  hooks  the 
smooth  bore. 

Just  as  we  were  about  to  go,  I  heard  my  mother's  voice 
calling  me;  I  found  her  in  the  square  room  about  her 
household  duties.  I  went  up  to  her  and  she  put  one  hand 
on  one  side  of  my  face  and  the. other  hand  on  the  other 
side  and  kissed  me.  As  she  did  this,  she  said  "Be  care- 
ful now  and  not  hurt  yourself  or  your  father,  and  bring 
me  a  partridge  of  your  own  killing,  and  I  will  see  that  it 
is  cooked  fit  for  a  king." 

My  mother  was  tall  and  straight,  and  had  dark  hair 
and  large,  dark  gray  eyes.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman, 


10  THE   OCD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

and  as  good,  loving  and  patient  as  she  was  beautiful. 
God  bless,  keep  and  guard  her  down  to  the  end,  for  she 
yet  lives  at  nearly  eighty.  I  will,  perhaps,  tell  you  more 
about  her  some  other  time. 

I  passed  out  of  the  door,  and  as  I  did  I  saw  father 
standing  in  the  road  with  the  butt  of  his  gun  resting  on 
the  ground  and  he  was  gazing  off  over  the  eastern  hills. 
We  started  in  the  direction  he  was  looking,  across  the 
meadow  and  pasture  land  of  a  neighbor.  We  looked  for 
no  gates  or  bars,  but  we  went  right  on  over  the  fences 
when  they  came  in  our  way.  We  paid  no  attention  to 
roads  or  paths ;  we  made  our  own  roads  and  paths.  The 
dog  "  Snap  "  ran  here  and  there,  happy  as  a  lark  and 
handsome  as  a  picture.  He  loved  to  hunt  as  well  as 
father  or  I.  He  was  a  long-eared,  curly-haired,  liver- 
colored  Spaniel,  and  was  well  trained  and  exceedingly  in- 
telligent. In  memory,  I  can  see  father  now  as  he  walked 
along  on  that  beautiful  morning.  He  was  six  feet  and  an 
inch  in  height,  and  weighed  about  one  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  and  was  as  straight  as  an  arrow.  His 
complexion  was  dark;  his  nose  long  and  straight;  his 
eyes  were  as  sharp  as  an  eagles ;  his  hair  curled  a  little  ; 
his  hands  and  feet  were  small  and  well  shaped,  and  he 
stepped  as  spry  and  light  as  a  fox.  He  sleeps  the,  long, 
last  sleep  now,  but  I  remernber  him  so  well  that  I  know  I 
have  given  you  a  good  description  of  him. 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  II 

We  soon  came  near  the  woods,  and  words  are  feeble 
agents  with  which  to  describe  how  beautiful  the  leaves  and 
branches  were  as  they  stood  out  between  the  sky  and  us. 
The  early  frosts  had  here  and  there  touched  the  foliage 
and  in  obedience  to  that  touch,  there  appeared  the  beauti  • 
ful  colorings  seen  in  a  western  New  York  forest  in  Autumn. 

Just  before  we  reached  Hess'  sugar  bush  father  said : 
"  You  must  always  carry  your  gun  so  the  muzzle  points 
away  from  any  one  who  is  with  you  and  also  away  from 
yourself.  Then  if  it  should  accidentally  be  discharged  no 
one  will  be  hurt.  When  you  are  in  the  woods,  you  must 
guard  against  the  hammer  of  your  gun  being  pulled  back 
by  coming  in  contact  with  bush  or  vine,  as  I  once  knew  a 
gun  to  be  discharged  and  do  mischief  in  that  way." 

We  had  now  reached  the  underbrush  which  fringed 
the  woods.  This  was  an  old  blackberry  patch  and  a  beauti- 
ful hide  for  partridges.  Father  said  to  the  dog,  "  Go  hunt 
them  up."  The  spaniel  disappeared  like  a  flash.  We 
stepped  into  and  through  the  brush  and  briars  to  the 
forest  of  tall  sugar  maples.  The  ground  was  covered 
with  fallen  leaves,  and  the  ferns,  which  had  been  sheltered 
from  the  frost  by  the  branches  and  leaves  overhead, 
still  were  very  beautiful  and  graceful  as  they  bowed  now 
and  then  in  the  morning  breeze. 

The  dog  was  at  work  in  the  brush  skirting  the  woods. 
We  kept  along  opposite  the  dog  as  near  as  we  could.  We 


12  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

knew  where  he  was  by  the  small  dry  twigs  which  were 
broken  as  he  ran  here  and  there.  Father  said,  "  If  there 
are  any  birds  in  there,  he  will  rustle  them  out  sure,  and 
if  any  birds  are  flushed  they  will  fly  out  of  the  brush  by 
us  and  down  the  hill  to  our  left  to  find  a  hiding  place 
among  the  branches  of  those  hemlocks  you  can  just  see  by 
the  borders  of  '  Benson's  creek.'  If  we  are  quick  and 
sharp  when  the  birds  pass  us,  we  shall  get  one  or  two. 
If  we  are  not  lucky  enough  to  shoot  them  on  the  wing, 
we  will  try  and  hunt  them  up  after  they  have  secreted 
themselves  among  the  branches  of  the  trees." 

Sure  enough,  as  we  were  walking  along  with  our  eyes 
and  ears  ready  to  catch  the  first  sight  or  sound  from  the 
bushes,  we  heard  the  dog  jump  and  give  a  series  of  sharp 
barks  or  screams.  At  once  there  was  a  great  flutter  of 
wings  and  up  out  from  the  bushes  came  three  partridges, 
one  after  the  other.  They  were  as  big  as  good  sized 
chickens  and  like  a  flash  they  started  across  our  path  and 
down  the  hill  towards  the  hemlock.  I  forgot  I  had  a  gun, 
but  with  eyes  strained,  looked  after  the  birds  as  they 
went  by  like  the  wind.  Not  so  with  father.  He  stood  a 
little  to  the  left  of  me  and  in  the  direction  the  birds  were 
going.  The  tall,  graceful  ferns  came  up  to  his  knees. 
His  left  foot  was  a  little  in  advance  of  the  other ;  his  gun 
was  to  his  face  just  a  moment  and  I  saw  the  end  of  the 
smooth  bore  following  the  course  of  the  birds.  Just  a 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  13 

moment,  a  mere  item  of  time,  and  there  was  a  flash  and 
a  roar  and  off  to  our  left  I  heard  a  "  thud  "  as  one  of  the 
birds  caught  by  the  shot  from  the  gun  fell  in  the  leaves. 

I  first  thought  of  my  gun  just  as  the  bird  father  had 
killed  struck  the  ground.  But  it  was  too  late.  My 
chance  had  passed  for  that  time. 

My  father  was  as  handsome  as  a  picture  as  he  stood 
there  and  loaded  the  old  smooth  bore.  His  face  was 
slightly  flushed  and  an  exquisite  smile  lighted  up  his 
usually  sober  face.  I  noticed  his  hand  when  he  loaded 
the  gun  and  it  was  as  steady  as  could  be,  but  the  fire  of 
excitement  burned  in  his  keen  eye. 

The  dog  brought  the  partridge  in  his  mouth  and  laid 
it  at  father's  feet  and  looked  up  into  his  face,  whined  a 
little  and  moved  his  tail,  saying  plainly  in  dog  language, 
"  You  are  the  lad  for  me."  The  spaniel  never  noticed 
me  at  all,  he  no  doubt  blamed  me  because  I  had  not 
killed  one  of  the  birds.  Any  way  he  acted  very  coolly 
towards  me. 

Father  lifted  the  partridge  by  the  bill.  It  was  a  father 
bird  and  had  a  beautiful  black  ruffle  of  feathers  about  his 
neck.  He  had  a  tail  which,  when  spread,  was  as  large  as 
a  lady's  fan  and  of  the  same  shape.  The  feathers  of  the 
tail  were  very  beautiful ;  each  one  was  black  at  a  point 
near  the  end,  though  the  very  end  was  light  colored,  so 
that  when  the  tail  was  spread  there  was  a  border  all  the 


14  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

way  round  the  tail,  and  also  a  light  border  all  the  way 
round  at  the  end  of  the  feathers.  The  feathers  on  the 
body  of  the  bird  were  mottled  white  and  black,  so  per- 
fectly mingled  that  the  color  was  neither  white  or  black. 
Light  colored  feathers  grew  away  down  the  legs  to  the 
feet  and  the  feet  were  like  a  chicken's,  except  they  were 
black  or  very  dark  colored.  It  was  a  noble  bird  and  no 
mistake. 

Father  said,  "  There  my  boy,  that  is  the  way  to  do  it, 
why  didn't  you  kill  one  ?  "  I  owned  up  that  I  had  been 
so  excited  that  I  had  forgotten  my  gun  until  the  birds  had 
gone  and,  in  fact,  till  his  bird  struck  the  ground.  He 
said,  "  Well  never  mind,  you  have  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  shooting  and  it  is  no  wonder  you  forgot  your  gun  the 
first  time,  you  will  soon  get  used  to  it,  however,  and  then 
you  will  give  a  good  account  of  yourself."  Father  put 
the  bird  in  his  hunting  sack,  which  hung  over  one 
shoulder,  and  we  started  on  down  the  hill  in  the  direction 
the  other  birds  had  gone. 

These  birds  are  very  cunning  in  the  way  they  will 
hide  from  a  hunter  in  a  tree.  They  usually  light  on  an 
evergreen  because  it  gives  better  opportunity  to  secrete 
themselves.  They  light  on  a  limb,  high  up,  and  sit  close 
to  the  body  of  the  tree.  They  sit  very  straight  and  still. 
It  takes  a  sharp  eye  to  find  them  when  thus  hidden. 

We  went  down  among  the  hemlocks  and  looked  every 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN.  15 

one  over  carefully,  but  could  not  see  a  feather.  We 
walked  round  each  tree  and  examined  it  the  best  we  could 
and  finally  gave  it  up  and  passed  beyond  the  trees  down 
to  the  margin  of  the  brook  which  here  ran  over  a  pebbly 
bottom.  Just  as  we  reached  the  water  we  heard  a  rustle 
and  flutter  of  wings  up  toward  one  of  the  hemlocks  we 
had  passed  and  examined,  and  out  jumped  one  of  the 
partridges  we  had  looked  for.  She  flew  right  back  toward 
the  spot  she  had  started  from.  The  dog  pricked  up  his 
ears  and  whined  and  father  said,  "  Never  mind  we  will 
let  her  go  ;  she  is  so  frightened  that  she  would  fly  again 
before  we  could  get  in  gun  shot  of  her  if  we  attempted  to 
look  her  up." 

We  passed  down  the  creek  a  little  ways  until  we  found 
some  stones  which  came  above  the  surface  of  the  water, 
on  which  we  could  cross  the  stream  dry  shod.  I  was 
thirsty  and  spoke  of  taking  a  drink  of  the  water  from  the 
brook,  but  father  told  me  to  wait  a  little  while  and  he 
would  show  me  a  spring  from  which  I  could  satisfy  my 
thirst.  Just  as  we  reached  the  other  side  of  the  stream 
I  saw  some  tracks  in  the  soft  soil  near  the  water.  I  called 
my  father's  attention  to  them  and  asked  what  they  were 
and  he  said,  "  They  are  the  tracks  of  a  coon,  these  tracks 
were  made  last  night ;  he  went  to  the  corn-field  after  soft 
corn,  or  perhaps  he  was  looking  along  here  after  clams." 
The  tracks  looked  liked  a  medium  sized  dog's  tracks,  only 


l6  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

they  were  long  and  slim  and  you  could  see  the  nails  were 
sharp.  I  asked  father  if  we  could  not  hunt  the  coon  up. 
He  said,  "  It  would  be  a  very  difficult  thing  to  find  him  as 
he  is  now  no  doubt  secreted  a  long  distance  from  here  in 
the  hollow  of  some  tree  asleep,  and  will  not  stir  out  again 
till  night." 

We  went  on,  over  a  beech  ridge,  and  down  into  a 
ravine.  As  we  came  near  the  bottom,  I  heard  the  musi- 
cal sound  of  running  water.  A  few  paces  further  down 
we  stepped  around  a  bush  of  alders,  and  there,  just  be- 
fore us,  was  a  boiling  spring,  as  big  as  a  dining-table. 
The  water  bubbled  up  from  a  dozen  places  in  the  bottom, 
and  though  the  water  in  the  spring  was  quite  deep,  you 
could  see  the  smallest  particle  on  the  bottom — it  was  so 
clear.  I  was  about  to  kneel,  and  drink  of  the  clear, 
sparkling  waters.  Father  told  me  to  wait  a  moment, 
and  he  stood  his  gun  beside  a  tree,  and  stepped  a  few 
paces  away.  When  he  returned,  he  had  two  large  leaves 
of  the  basswood  tree.  He  handed  me  one,  and  then  took 
the  other,  and,  with  a  few  movements  of  the  fingers, 
fashioned  the  leaf  into  a  drinking  cup,  somewhat  like  a 
cornucopia.  He  stooped  down,  and  carefully  filled  it 
part  full  of  the  sweet  water  of  the  spring,  and  held  it  to 
my  lips,  and  I  drank  from  it  what  now  seems  the  sweet- 
est draught  that  I  ever  tasted.  Father  smiled,  and  cast 
the  leaf  from  him;  took  the  other  from  my  hand  and 
made  a  second  cup,  and  himself  drank  heartily. 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  17 

He  then  picked  up  his  gun,  and  was  about  to  start  on, 
but  he  stopped,  lowered  the  gun,  and  stood  and  gazed 
long  and  silently  upon  the  waters  of  the  spring.  He 
looked  like  a  piece  of  statuary,  as  he  stood  there — the 
woods  all  about,  and  the  beautiful  spring  just  in  front  of 
him.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  thinking  about.  He 
started,  and  looked  at  me,  and  said,  "It  is  thirty  years 
since  the  first  time  I  saw  that  spring.  I  was  twenty-one 
years  of  age,  and  these  waters  bubbled  up  and  ran  away, 
just  as  they  do  now.  All  these  years  has  this  spring 
been  noiselessly  sending  forth  to  the  world  that  same  life- 
giving  water.  It  never  gets  weary,  nor  does  it  stop  for  a 
moment  in  its  good  work.  The  Divine  Being,  to  whom 
we  are  all  accountable,  and  who  guides  us  all  our  lives, 
if  we  will  let  him,  furnishes  the  fountain  somewhere  in 
the  hills.  This  spring,  my  boy,  should  teach  us  a  lesson 
in  life.  It  should  teach  us  that  the  things  that  come 
from  God's  hands  are  pure  and  clean.  It  should  teach 
us  not  to  stop  in  our  efforts  to  do  our  fellow-men  good. 
It  should  teach  us  to  do  acts  of  love  without  show  or 
noise.  It  does  tell  us  that  God  has  provided,  and  will 
provide  for  all  the  beings  dependent  upon  him." 

He  had  forgotten,  and  I  am  sure  I  had,  where  we  were. 
But  just  at  this  time  the  dog  ran  down  the  stream  a  little 
and  looked  up  and  barked,  and  we  saw,  on  looking  over 
his  head,  a  black  squirrel  about  to  jump  from  the  top  of 


l8  THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

one  tree  to  another.  Father  said,  "  Shoot  him  just  as  he 
stops  to  gather  for  the  leap."  Up  went  the  old  "Pill- 
lock,"  and  as  the  squirrel  was  about  to  jump  I  fired  at 
him.  My  !  how  the  old  gun  kicked  and  smoked.  When 
the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  no  other  execution  had 
been  done  except  to  detach  a  few  leaves  from  the  branches 
of  the  trees  overhead  by  the  shot,  which  came  circling 
to  the  ground.  I  also  found  that  a  small  piece  of  the 
skin  from  my  right  cheek  had  been  loosened.  The  squir- 
rel, as  lively  as  a  cricket,  had  now  gone  to  the  body  of 
the  tree  and  concealed  himself  away  up  toward  the  top. 
We  could  not  see  him  for  he  kept  very  still.  Father  said, 
"  He  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  trunk,  and  will  keep  the 
body  of  the  tree  between  himself  and  us  if  he  can.  You 
walk  round  that  side  of  the  tree,  and  as  you  come  in  sight 
so  he  can  see  you,  he  will  come  around  on  this  side,  and, 
before  he  knows  it,  I  shall  get  a  shot  at  him."  So  I 
walked  around  the  tree,  and  as  I  came  nearly  opposite 
father,  I  saw  him  raise  his  gun  quickly.  I  looked  away 
up  in  the  tree,  and  saw  the  squirrel  run  out  on  the  end 
of  a  branch  toward  another  tree.  He  stopped  a  moment 
to  get  ready  to  jump  and  father  fired.  I  heard  a  sharp, 
cutting  sound  as  the  shot  sped  on  its  way,  and  then  saw 
the  leaves  and  bark  about  the  squirrel  fly,  and  the  squirrel 
dropped  off  the  limb.  He  did  not  come  down,  how- 
ever ;  he  hung  by  his  paws  to  the  limb  a  moment,  his 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  21 

long,  bushy  tail  hanging  straight.  I  was  about  to  fire, 
but  was  stopped  by  my  father's  saying,  "  Don't  shoot; 
he  is  dead  enough  and  will  come  down  soon."  Just  then 
his  paws  loosened  and  he  fell  through  the  lower  branches 
to  the  leaves  at  our  feet. 

The  dog  was  about  to  pounce  upon  him,  but  father 
stopped  him  and  went  and  picked  him  up.  He  held  him 
in  his  hand  and  smoothed  his  black  hair  and  long,  bushy 
tail.  It  was  a  beautiful  animal,  as  black  as  coal,  long, 
slender  body,  strong  limbs  and  paws,  a  cunning  head, 
with  long,  slim  front  teeth,  and  cute  ears  that  stood 
straight  out  from  his  head.  He  had  long  hairs  at  the 
side  of  his  mouth  like  the  hairs  rabout  a  cat's  mouth  we 
call  " whiskers."  His  tail  was  as  long  as  his  body  and 
covered  to  the  tip  with  beautiful  black  hair.  He  would 
weigh  two  pounds  and  a  half.  Father  put  him  away  in 
his  game  bag  with  the  partridge,  loaded  his  gun  and  on 
we  started. 

In  a  very  short  time  we  came  to  the  main  stream  of 
that  part  of  the  country,  called  "  South  Branch."  It  is 
quite  a  large  stream.  It  is  two  or  three  rods  across,  and 
runs  still  and  deep  at  this  point.  It  is  the  same  stream 
that  passes  to  the  south  of  our  house.  As  we  came  to 
the  water,  father  stopped  and  said,  "  Just  across  the 
creek,  there,  in  that  low  ground  among  the  elms,  we 
sometimes  find  a  wood-cock,  even  at  this  time  of  the  year. 


22  THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

The  most  of  these  birds  go  south  before  this,  but,  now 
and  then,  one  stays  till  nearly  the  first  of  November. 
We  will  go  down  to  a  log,  which  reaches  across  the  stream 
just  below  here,  and  go  over  and  see  if  the  dog  cannot 
find  one  of  these  beautiful  and  curious  birds."  So  we 
walked  down  along  the  margin  of  the  still-running  stream, 
a  little  way,  and,  sure  enough,  there  we  found  an  old, 
moss-covered  log,  reaching  from  bank  to  bank.  It 
looked  as  if  it  had  been  there  for  many  years,  as,  no 
doubt,  it  had.  Father  carried  both  guns,  as  we  crossed. 
We  reached  the  other  side  safely,  though  I  took  the  pains 
to  hang  on  to  the  alders  that  came  within  my  reach,  on 
the  way  over.  If  wood-cock  could  be  found  in  this  cover, 
they  would  be  along  the  margin  of  the  stream,  in  the 
thick  alders.  So  father  stationed  me  a  little  way  from 
the  spot  where  we  stepped  upon  the  shore.  I  stood  be- 
tween two  great  elm  trees,  that  were  about  two  rods 
apart.  I  faced  up  the  stream,  and,  at  the  suggestion  of 
father,  I  cocked  my  gun.  Father  and  the  dog  took  a 
roundabout  way,  up  the  creek,  keeping  some  distance 
from  the  water.  They  went  twenty-five  or  thirty  rods, 
and  then  turned  to  the  left,  and  went  to  the  margin  of 
the  creek.  I  heard  father  say,  "  Look  them  up,"  to  the 
dog.  Then  it  was  that  every  sense  I  had  was  on  the 
alert.  I  heard  father  and  the  dog  come  along  down  the 
creek,  and  when  they  had  reached  about  half  way  to  me 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK    GUN.  23 

the  dog  gave  one  of  his  sharp,  warning  barks.  I  saw  a 
puff  of  smoke  in  the  thick  brush,  and  then  heard  the  re- 
port of  the  "smooth  bore,"  and  in  half  a  second  the 
shot  rattled  in  the  branches  of  the  elm  over  my  head. 
Just  then  my  eye  caught  sight  of  the  bird  coming  right 
toward  me.  The  old  "  Pill-lock"  was  to  my  face  in  an 
instant,  and,  taking  a  quick  aim,  I  fired.  The  next 
thing  I  remember  I  was  picking  myself  up  out  of  the 
leaves.  The  old  "Pill-lock"  lay  at  my  side,  smoking 
from  the  muzzle,  as  innocent  as  could  be,  but  it  had 
downed  me. 

Father  was  near  me  and  reached  down  his  hand  and 
grasped  mine  and  helped  me  up,  and,  as  he  did  so,  he  said, 
"Did  you  kill  the  bird? "  While  he  asked  the  question,  he 
rubbed  his  hand  along  my  right  arm,  and  said,  "No  bones 
broken,  let  us  look  for  the  bird. "  I  picked  up  the  old  gun, 
and  father  loaded  it,  and  we  started  to  search  for  the  game. 
I  noticed  father  did  not  look  as  though  he  expected  to 
find  anything,  and  I  confess  I  felt  that  way  myself.  After 
a  little,  father  inquired  where  the  bird  was  when  I  fired. 
I  told  him,  as  near  as  I  could,  and  also  stated  the  course 
the  bird  was  flying.  I  told  father  that  I  did  not  see  the 
bird  after  I  fired,  but  I  first  saw  smoke,  and  lots,  of  it, 
and  then  I  saw  stars,  and  many  of  them,  and  that  was  all 
I  recollected  about  it.  The  bird  was  somewhere,  how- 
ever, dead  or  alive,  and,  with  the  dog,  we  set  about  find- 


24  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

ing  it.  We  started  slowly  down  the  stream,  the  way  the 
bird  was  flying  when  I  fired. 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  father  called  to  me  to  come 
where  he  was.  When  I  reached  him,  he  pointed  his 
finger  and  said:  "  Do  you  see  that  little  bushy  hemlock 
near  that  pool  of  water  ?  Well,  look  along  down  its  stem 
to  the  ground  and  then  to  the  left  near  that  old  dark 
colored  chunk  of  wood."  I  did  as  I  was  told,  and  there, 
not  more  than  a  rod  from  us,  sat  the  wood-cock  with  his 
long  bill,  his  big  round  eyes  and  long  legs.  I  started  to 
pull  up  my  gun  but  father  put  his  hand  on  the  barrel  and 
said,  "  You  are  too  near,  you  will  spoil  the  bird  to  shoot 
it  from  here."  So  we  stepped  back  about  three  rods  and 
then  father  said,  "  Shoot  now."  I  raised  the  old  "Pill- 
lock  "  and  put  it  fairly  against  my  shoulder,  took  quick 
aim  and  fired.  As  the  smoke  cleared  away  we  walked  up 
and  there  lay  the  bird  dead.  I  had  taken  him  on  the 
ground  to  be  sure,  but  I  had  taken  him. 

Let  me  give  young  hunters  a  bit  of  advice  right  here 
about  wood-cock  shooting.  When  you  get  a  chance  to 
kill  a  wood-cock,  kill  him.  Don't  insist  on  his  being  on 
the  wing  when  you  shoot  at  him,  if  you  do  perhaps  you 
won't  shoot  him,  that's  all. 

I  felt  pretty  well.  I  had  a  wood-cock  and  father  had 
a  partridge  and  a  squirrel.  Father  offered  to  carry  my 
bird,  but  I  respectfully  and  firmly  declined.  I  carefully 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  25 

tucked  the  bird  away  in  the  pocket  of  my  home-made 
blouse.  My  step  was  light  and  easy  after  that.  I  was  a 
full  fledged  hunter  and  with  a  record  at  that.  The  record 
was  short,  but  it  was  a  record. 

We  now  re-crossed  the  creek  on  the  same  log  we  had 
used  as  a  bridge  when  we  came  over,  and  started  toward 
home,  but  not  over  the  route  we  had  come.  We  went 
toward  what  was  then  known  as  "  Dick's  slash."  This 
was  forty  or  fifty  acres  of  land  that  once  had  been  original 
forest  and  had  been  "  slashed  "  or  cut  over  and  again 
partly  covered  with  underbrush  and  was  a  favorite  place 
for  partridges.  We  started  down  the  creek  and  kept  near 
it.  We  soon  came  to  the  roots  of  a  white  birch  which 
branched  out  from  the  tree  on  the  surface  of  the  ground 
so  that  they  made  an  excellent  seat. 

It  was  now  a  little  after  mid-day  and  father  leaned  his 
gun  against  the  birch,  where  it  was  within  reach,  and  sat 
down  upon  the  root.  I  sat  down  near  him  and  laid  my 
gun  on  the  ground  beside  me.  We  were  perhaps  two 
rods  from  the  creek,  but  in  sight  of  it.  Father  took  his 
hunting  bag  off  his  shoulder  and,  much  to  my  surprise, 
took  from  it  a  bundle,  carefully  done  up  in  brown  paper. 
He  undid  the  string  and  spread  out  on  the  clean  bark  of 
the  root  a  luncheon.  I  did  not  know  he  had  such  a  thing. 
I  tell  you  it  looked  good.  There  was  dried  beef,  chicken 
sandwiches,  fried  cakes,  boiled  eggs,  a  little  paper  of  salt 


26  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

and  pepper  mixed,  and  some  bread  and  butter  all  pre- 
pared and  the  pieces  put  together.  It  was  as  neat  and 
•clean,  seemingly,  as  when  he  had  taken  it  from  home. 

We  ate  of  the  luncheon  for  a  little  and  I  said  that 
some  water  would  be  agreeable,  and  at  once  started  for 
the  creek.  "  Hold  on,"  said  my  father,  "  That  is  pretty 
good  water  but  don't  drink  it.  Go  out  there  where  you 
see  that  old  tree  top  and  by  the  rock  just  beyond  you 
will  find  a  spring.  You  might  as  well  know  where  these 
things  are  first  as  last.  As  you  go  along  look  close  and 
you  will  find  a  small  gourd  shell  hanging  in  the  tree  top 
by  a  wire  loop."  I  followed  directions  and  found  the 
shell  and  the  moss-covered  rock  at  the  foot  of  a  birch  and 
from  under  the  rock,  and  from  crevices  in  it,  came  sweet 
water  in  abundance.  I  filled  the  gourd  and  drank  all  I 
wanted  and  again  filled  it  and  carried  it  to  father.  He 
drank  and  then  held  the  cup  and  looked  at  it  and  the 
sparkling  water  in  it  and  drank  again  and  again.  I  asked 
how  the  gourd  came  there  and  was  told  that  many  years 
before  it  had  been  brought  there  on  purpose  by  father  so 
that  he  could  catch  the  cool  water  as  it  dripped  from  the 
moss,  and  that  it  had  been  there  ever  since.  We  set 
about  finishing  our  lunch,  at  times  feeding  the  spaniel 
from  our  hands,  who  ate,  and  drank  from  the  creek  alter- 
nately. 

My  father  said,  "You  seem  to  enjoy  this  my  boy,  it 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  2/ 

is  natural  you  should.  This  is  your  first  real  hunt,  you 
are  just  commencing,  and  my  hunts  are  fast  coming  to  an 
end.  You  see  your  sun  of  life  always  in  the  east  and  the 
journey  of  life  to  you  seems  to  be  a  long  one.  I  see  my 
sun  of  life  always  in  the  west  and  the  journey  of  life  seems 
short.  Life  is  a  curious  state.  You  cannot  comprehend 
it  and  you  will  never  be  able  to  explain  it  to  yourself  even. 
You  are  now  about  ten  years  of  age.  Before  you  realize 
it  you  will  be  fifty  and  when  you  are  fifty,  I  will  sleep  my 
last  sleep.  My  labors  and  cares  in  life  are  drawing  to  a 
close,  yours  are  just  commencing.  You  will  find  this  life 
that  now  looks  so  pleasant  and  rosy  to  you,  unsatisfactory. 
You  will  long  for  something  beyond,  and  there  is  some- 
thing worth  longing  for  after  this  life  is  passed.  I  can't 
express  to  you  how  anxious  I  am  that  you  should  choose 
the  right  way  and  the  "better  part."  There  are  stum- 
bling blocks  and  dangerous  places  along  the  journey  of 
life  and  you  must  find  them  and  pass  them  safely.  I 
know  where  some  of  these  dangerous  places  are,  for  I 
have  stumbled  there.  I  will  tell  you  about  a  few  of  them 
now  and  about  others  at  some  future  time. 

You  have  been  on  journeys  with  me  and  have  noticed 
when  we  came  to  a  point  on  our  way  where  there  were 
three  or  four  roads  leading  in  different  directions,  that 
some  person  who  knew  where  all  the  roads  led,  had 
erected  a  sign-board,  the  arms  of  which  pointed  along 


28  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

the  roads  and  the  point  to  which  each  road  would  lead 
you  was  plainly  marked  on  the  arms,  so  that  even  a 
stranger  could  find  the  right  way. 

We  have  no  such  sign-boards  on  life's  highway.  There 
are  as  many  highways  in  life's  journey  as  there  are  persons. 
The  only  guides  we  have  on  this  journey  of  life,  are  the 
teachings  of  the  Divine  Father  as  found  in  the  Bible  and 
the  actual  experience  of  those  who  have  made  the  journey, 
or  part  of  it.  Do  you  see  that  dwarfed  and  scraggy  elm 
yonder  by  the  margin  of  the  creek  ?  That  elm  has  a 
good  place  to  grow ;  the  ground  where  it  stands  is  a  rich 
loam  which  has  accumulated  from  falling  leaves  and 
branches  in  the  many  ages  of  the  past.  The  roots 
reach  down  into  the  rich  soil  and  feed  upon  it  and  are 
continually  refreshed  by  the  waters  of  the  creek.  There 
are  no  large  trees  very  near  it,  to  shade  it  and  obstruct 
its  growth.  Still,  with  all  these  advantages,  the  trunk  is 
small,  not  more  than  ten  inches  through,  and  it  is  not 
nearly  as  tall  as  some  of  the  trees  about  it  which  are 
located  not  so  favorably. 

Look  up  the  trunk  twenty  or  thirty  feet  near  that  limb 
which  grows  out  to  the  north-east,  and  you  will  see  a  hole 
in  the  body  of  the  tree/  This  shows  the  tree  is  hollow, 
dead  at  the  heart  and  unhealthy.  Well,  my  boy,  I  have 
known  that  tree  for  twenty  years.  Away  back  when  the 
bears,  deer  and  wolves  were  plenty  here,  I  knew  that  tree. 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN.  29 

I  once  killed  a  deer  near  where  we  are  seated  and  hung  it 
on  the  branches  of  that  tree  so  the  wolves  could  not  get  it 
'till  I  went  home  for  help  to  carry  it.  Let  me  see,  that 
was  twenty  years,  yes  more  than  twenty  years  ago.  That 
tree  was  as  large  then  as  now.  You  naturally  wonder  at 
this.  Listen  and  I  will  explain  it.  Look  carefully  at  the 
top  branches  of  the  tree.  See  how  bunchy  and  thick  they 
are,  The  limbs  look  as  though  they  had  all  grown  to- 
gether. That  effect,  and  in  fact  the  whole  trouble  with 
the  tree,  is  caused  by  a  wild  grape  vine.  Just  step  'round 
this  way  a  moment ;  now  look  along  up  the  body  of  the 
tree  from  the  ground.  Do  you  not  see  that  long,  smooth 
vine,  about  as  big  as  your  wrist,  running  up  the  tree  ? 
That  is  a  wild  grape  vine  and  is  as  old  or  nearly  as  old  as 
the  tree.  The  gra'pe  vine  was  there  when  I  first  saw  the 
tree  only  it  was  not  so  large.  It  has  hung  to  the  tree  all 
these  years  and  has  grown  stronger  and  larger  all  the 
time.  It  has  kept  the  tree  from  growing  by  binding  its 
strong  tendrils  about  the  branches,  and  you  can  see  where 
the  vine  itself  winds  around  the  tree,  there  is  a  whitish 
mark.  That  is  where  the  tough  body  of  the  grape  vine 
has  chafed  and  wounded  the  bark  of  the  tree  when  the 
wind  was  strong  and  made  the  tree  rock  to  and  fro.  That 
vine,  in  its  effect  on  that  tree,  has  been  that  of  a  great 
vegetable  snake.  It  has  held  the  tree  down ;  it  has  re- 
tarded its  growth ;  it  has  wounded  it  and  made  it  unsightly 


30  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

and  the  other  trees  about  it  have  outgrown  it,  and  have 
kept  smooth,  healthy  and  handsome. 

Well,  my  boy,  let  me  tell  you,  that  vine  is  to  that  tree 
what  sin  and  wrong  is  to  a  boy.  If  a  boy  does  wrong, 
commits  a  sin  and  does  not  get  rid  of  its  effects,  such  as 
profanity,  drinking  intoxicating  beverages,  smoking  and 
chewing  tobacco,  or  untruthfulness,  until  he  gets  the  habit 
fastened  on  him,  then  the  sin  or  wrong  will  weigh  and  tie 
the  boy  down.  It  will  chafe  and  wound  him.  It  will 
make  him  small  in  mind  and  perhaps  dwarfed  in  body. 
This  will  give  other  boys,  who  have  no  such  bad  habits,  a 
chance  to  get  the  start  of  him  in  the  race  of  life.  So  you 
will  see  you  can  learn  a  life  lesson  from  the  elm  and  the 
grape  vine  which  may,  and  I  hope  will,  be  of  use  to  you 
hereafter. 

I  have  now  finished  my  lesson  and  have  a  notion  to 
tell  you  a  hunting  story,  the  end  of  which  was  near  this 
spot.  It  will  not  take  long,  and  we  ought  to  rest  a  little 
after  eating. 

A  long  time  ago,  when  I  still  lived  with  my  father, 
and  when  I  was  seventeen  years  of  age,  while  we  were  on  a 
deer  hunting  trip,  my  father  and  I  came  near  the  "Turtle 
Ponds,"  to  the  eastward  of  Tamerack  Swamp,  about  a 
mile  from  here.  You  will  recollect  that  I  spoke  to  you 
about  these  ponds  one  day  while  we  were  looking  for  the 
pole  which  we  raised  on  the  corner  to  put  a  flag  on. 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  31 

Well,  as  we  came  near  one  of  these  small  ponds  we  dis- 
covered the  tracks  of  a  bear  and  found  where  he  had  gone 
down  to  the  pond  to  drink.  There  seemed  to  be  a  sort 
of  path  where  the  animals  went  down  the  bank  to  get 
water,  for  there  were  other  bear  tracks  besides  those  which 
had  attracted  our  notice.  There  was  no  chance  of  getting 
the  animal  then,  but  my  father  said  that  if  the  bear  trap 
was  skillfully  placed  in  or  near  that  path,  so  the  brute 
would  not  notice  it,  the  old  fellow  might  be  caught.  It 
was  about  three  miles  home,  but  the  next  day,  with  the 
consent  of  my  father,  and  after  some  instructions  from 
him,  I  took  the  old  bear  trap  and  started  for  the  turtle 
ponds.  This  old  bear  trap  weighed  about  thirty  pounds 
and  when  set  was  an  ugly  customer.  In  order  to  bend 
the  springs,  so  as  to  open  the  jaws  and  set  the  trap,  we 
were  obliged  to  use  a  hand-spike  or  long  lever  of  wood. 
When  the  jaws  were  open  it  was  as  big  as  a  ten  quart 
pan,  and  when  the  jaws  came  together  with  nothing  be- 
tween them  you  could  hear  them  twenty  rods.  There 
was  a  strong  iron  chain,  about  five  feet  long,  securely 
fastened  to  a  ring  in  the  trap,  and  to  the  other  end  of  the 
chain  was  a  ring  about  two  inches  in  diameter.  This 
trap  made  a  heavy  load  to  carry,  especially  as  I  had  with 
me  a  hatchet  and  gun. 

Well,    I  arrived  at  the  spot  where  we  had  seen  the 
bear  tracks,  and  found  that  the  night  before  one  or  more 


32  THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

bears  had  traveled  down  the  same  road  to  the  water. 
After  a  good  deal  of  work,  I  succeeded  in  opening  the 
jaws  of  the  trap  and  fastening  them  open  by  the  strong 
iron  tongue  prepared  for  that  purpose.  Then  I  cut  down 
a  water  beech,  which  had  a  stem  about  an  inch  and  a 
half  in  diameter,  and  which  had  long,  tough  limbs.  This 
little  tree  was  about  eight  feet  long.  For  about  three 
feet  from  the  butt  end,  I  clipped  the  ends  of  the  limbs  off 
so  as  to  leave  them  next  the  body  about  a  foot  long. 
Then  I  put  the  butt  end  of  the  little  tree  through  the 
ring  on  the  end  of  the  chain  to  the  trap  and  bent  down 
the  stubs  of  limbs  I  had  left  on  it,  and  slipped  the  ring 
by  the  stubs  one  after  another  until  the  ring  was  up  past 
several  and  next  to  the  limbs  which  I  had  left  as  they 
grew.  There  the  trap  was  and  there  the  "clog"  was. 
Slowly  and  carefully  I  moved  the  trap  and  clog  along 
towards  the  pond,  so  that  I  would  make  as  little  stir  in 
the  leaves  as  possible,  and  so  the  trap  would  remain  set. 
At  first  I  was  quite  troubled  where  to  put  the  trap  so  that 
the  wary  animals  would  not  notice  it  and  so  that  they 
would  not  smell  it.  There  was  a  log  about  ten  inches 
through,  about  half  way  down  the  bank  to  the  water  that 
lay  across  the  path,  or  partial  road  the  animals  had  made, 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  on  the  water  side  of  that  log 
was  the  spot  to  place  the  old  trap,  so  I  calculated  about  how 
far  a  bear  in  going  down  to  the  water  would,  when  he 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  33 

stepped  over  the  log,  step  beyond  the  log,  and  after  a 
good  deal  of  trouble,  placed  the  trap  at  that  point.  I 
put  the  tree  to  which  the  trap  was  fastened  on  one  side 
of  the  path  and  carefully  covered  up  the  chain.  I  worked 
some  time  to  leave  the  ground  looking  natural  and  re- 
move my  own  tracks  by  the  liberal  use  of  leaves  and 
branches.  After  I  fixed  it  all  up  as  well  as  I  could,  I 
started  for  home,  where  I  arrived  about  dark. 

After  going  to  bed,  I  got  to  thinking  about  the  trap 
and  the  bear,  and  wondering  if  I  should  be  lucky  enough 
to  get  him,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  went  to  sleep. 
Finally,  I  did  sleep,  and,  before  morning,  I  dreamed  that 
a  big  bear  had  attempted  to  go  down  to  the  water,  and 
had  stepped  into  the  trap,  and  the  trap  had  fastened  to 
one  of  his  legs,  above  his  big  fore-foot,  and  the  trap, 
bear  and  clog  were  gone.  I  dressed  and  hurried  down 
stairs,  about  daylight,  and  told  my  father,  who  was  awake, 
what  I  had  dreamed,  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  and 
see  if  my  dream  was  true.  He  laughed,  and  said, 
"  Your  dream  comes  from  excitement  of  your  yesterday's 
experience,  and  from  your  continual  thought  about  the 
matter.  I  guess  you  have  not  caught  a  cunning,  old  bear 
as  quick  as  this."  I  urged  my  suit,  however,  and,  finally, 
was  given  permission  to  go.  I  took  down  the  rifle,  that 
always  hung  ready  and  loaded  in  those  days,  and  took 
the  powder  horn  off  the  hook,  and  put  the  string  over 


34  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

my  head,  so  the  crook  of  the  horn  hung  under  my  left 
arm,  and  called  the  dog.  We  had  a  big  dog,  whose 
name  was  "Buff,"  and  he  had  helped  to  kill  many  a 
bear  and  deer.  He  came  to  me  and  signified  not  only 
his  willingness,  but  his  delight  to  go. 

Away  we  went,  in  the  early  dawn  of  a  November 
morning.  The  air  was  quite  cold,  but  my  blood  was  up, 
and  I  was  warm  enough.  Across  the  back  fields,  to  the 
eastward,  I  went,  and  struck  into  the  woods,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  "Turtle  Pond,"  at  a  swinging  pace.  After  trav- 
eling for  about  half  the  distance  to  my  destination,  I 
happened  to  think  about  my  ammunition,  and  at  once  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  not  a  single  bullet  with  me, 
except  the  one  in  the  gun.  This  was  a  discovery  which 
made  me  fairly  weak.  I  sat  down  on  a  log,  and  ex- 
amined every  pocket  I  had  carefully.  There  was  powder 
enough  in  the  horn,  patches  in  a  little  box  in  the  stock 
of  the  gun,  but  not  a  single  spare  bullet.  Here  I  was 
alone  in  the  woods,  half  way  to  the  trap,  expecting  to  find 
a  bear  foot  in  it,  and  I  had  only  one  shot  for  the  fight 
which  was  sure  to  come.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  go 
back  and  get  the  pouch  of  bullets,  but,  after  a  little 
thought,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  trust  to  the  one  bullet 
and  the  dog.  I,  however,  pulled  the  pan  back,  and 
carefully  examined  the  powder  in  that,  felt  of  the  flint, 
to  see  it  was  tight  and  the  edge  clean,  put  the  old  gun 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  35 

on  my  shoulder,  set  my  lips  together,  and  again  started 
for  the  "Turtle  Pond." 

In  about  twenty  minutes,  I  reached  the  hemlock  ridge 
that  skirted  the  little  pond  where  the  trap  was  put.  In 
another  minute  I  was  standing  by  the  side  just  below  which 
I  had  placed  the  trap.  The  trap  was  gone.  The  ground 
had  been  torn  up,  the  bushes  just  about  there  broken 
down,  and  to  the  eastward  I  could  see  where  the  bear  had 
gone  dragging  the  trap  and  clog  with  him.  The  old  dog 
whined  and  showed  his  teeth,  the  hair  on  his  back  raised 
up  from  his  head  to  his  tail,  and  he  started  on  the  plain 
marked  trail  of  the  bear,  and  I  started  on  after  the  dog. 
In  a  few  rods  we  came  to  an  old  hemlock  tree  top  to  which 
the  trail  led.  I  expected  to  find  here  either  the  bear  held 
fast  by  trap  and  clog  in  the  old  limbs,  or  the  trap  from 
which  the  bear  had  loosened  himself.  But  not  so,  the 
trail  led  right  through  a  part  of  the  top  and  here  and  there 
I  found  the  hemlock  limbs  knocked  completely  off  or 
broken  and  the  old  bear  had  made  a  road  through  that 
top  where  a  good  sized  ox  could  go  with  ease.  When  I 
saw  this,  I  knew  he  was  a  big  brute  and  an  ugly  fellow, 
and  I  knew  too  that  the  old  trap  had  got  a  good  hold  and 
that  the  tough  water  beech  clog  was  standing  the  strain 
beautifully.  The  dog  kept  ahead  quite  away,  though 
now  and  then  I  made  him  go  slower  so  I  could  keep  up. 
We  could  follow  the  trail  as  easy  as  though  you  had  been 
along  there  and  mowed  a  swath  with  a  scythe. 


36  THE  OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

The  trail  led  toward  this  creek  above  here  about  half 
a  mile.  Soon  we  came  to  the  creek  and  there  the  trail 
turned  westward,  partially  back  toward  the  hemlock  swamp, 
which  was  no  doubt  the  home  of  the  bear.  I  made  up 
my  mind  from  what  I  saw,  that  the  bear  was  not  far  off, 
and  since  he  had  failed  to  cross  the  creek,  I  knew  he  did 
not  wish  to  cross  it  with  the  trap  and  clog  hanging  to 
him.  I  knew  every  bend  in  the  creek  then,  as  well  as 
now.  I  thought  I  knew  where  he  would  go.  I  started 
to  cut  across  to  get  ahead  of  him.  I  reached  a  point 
about  eighty  rods  above  here,  near  where  Benson's 
orchard  is,  and  I  heard  the  dog  bark  and  the  bear  growl. 
I  had  got  ahead  and  the  dog  had  come  up  with  the  bear 
and  they  were  coming  slowly  towards  me.  Now  and 
then  I  could  hear  the  bear  snarl  and  the  dog  growl  and 
bark,  and  then  it  would  be  quiet  again.  Then  the  same 
thing  would  occur,  each  time  it  would  be  nearer  to  me, 
and  they  seemed  to  be  coming  right  toward  me.  At  last  I 
heard  the  chain  rattle  about  six  or  seven  rods  from  me 
in  the  brush  near  an  old  fallen  tree,  the  trunk  of  which 
ran  near  where  I  stood,  and  there  ended  at  the  stump. 
The  dog  again,  at  this  point,  tackled  the  bear,  and  the 
bear  turned  on  him  and  the  old  chain  and  trap  rattled 
at  a  great  rate. 

The  old  bear  growled  and  snarled  enough  to  make 
one's  hair  stand  on  end.     Then  the  bear  started  along 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  37 

the  old  tree  trunk,  toward  the  stump,  but  on  ^the  other 
side.  It  at  once  occurred  to  me  that  when  the  bear 
came  in  sight,  near  the  stump,  was  the  time  for  me  to 
kill  him  with  my  one  bullet. 

Along  the  bear  came.  He  could  not  travel  fast,  for 
he  had  to  drag  the  trap,  chain,  and  clog,  and  he  had 
been  worried  by  the  dog,  until  he  was  tired.  Every 
time  he  put  down  his  fore  paw,  I  could  hear  the  trap  and 
chain  rattle.  The  clog  would,  now  and  then,  strike  a 
small  shrub  or  tree,  and  make  it  sway  and  tremble,  and  I 
could  see  over  the  old  log,  just  where  the  bear  was  all 
the  time.  I  cocked  and  put  the  old  flint  rifle  to^my  face, 
and  aimed  it  about  where  I  thought  the  bear  would 
come  in  sight  by  the  stump.  I  was  as  steady  as  a  post, 
and  never  thought  I  had  but  one  bullet,  and  was  about 
to  shoot  at  a  beast  that  was  king  of  that  forest,  and  as 
angry  as  angry  could  be.  I  glanced  along  the  long 
barrel  of  the  rifle,  and  saw  the  front  sight  plainly  through 
the  back  sight.  I  did  not  even  breathe,  and  my  heart 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  have  stopped  beating.  Just 
then  the  large  nose  of  the  bear  appeared,  and  his  great, 
shaggy  head.  Steadily  I  let  the  nose  and  the  head  ap- 
pear, though  it  was  but  a  flash  of  time,  and  when  the  ear 
appeared  in  sight,  I  dropped  the  gun  muzzle  so  the  sight 
covered  the  butt  of  his  ear  and  pulled  the  trigger.  A 
flash  of  powder  in  the  pan,  with  a  puff  of  smoke,  and 


38  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

the  sharp,  whiff-like  crack  of  the  rifle  came,  and  I  knew 
the  bullet  had  started  on  its  journey.  The  sound  of  the 
rifle  went  in  and  out  among  the  great  trees  of  the  forest, 
till  it  died  away  in  the  far  distance.  When  the  smoke 
which  the  discharge  had  made  floated  away,  I  looked  for 
the  bear,  and  there  he  lay  in  a  great  heap,  just  on  the 
spot  where  he  was  when  I  fired. 

I  ran  up  with  my  hatchet,  to  give  any  additional 
blow  needed,  but  none  was  required.  The  old  bear  that 
used  to  drink  at  "  Turtle  Pond"  was  dead. 

There  the  old  trap  was  fast  to  his  leg,  just  above  his 
big  foot.  He  was  a  monster,  and  would  weigh  full  four 
hundred  pounds.  The  one  bullet,  in  the  right  place, 
had  sent  him  to  his  long  home.  The  old  bear,  in  his 
struggles,  had  bent  and  partly  broken  the  clog,  but  it 
still  hung  to  the  chain. 

I  stood  my  gun  beside  a  tree,  took  off  my  coat,  and, 
with  my  hunting  knife,  removed  the  skin,  being  careful 
to  leave  the  long,  sharp  claws  of  the  feet  attached  to  .it. 
I  had  some  hard  work  to  unclasp  the  trap  from  the  bear's 
foot,  but  I  finally  accomplished  it,  and  took  the  faithful 
old  iron,  and  hid  it  carefully,  covering  it  with  a  large 
piece  of  hemlock  bark,  to  keep  it  dry. 

I  cut  off  fifteen  or  twenty  pounds  of  the  best  of  the 
meat  and  laid  it  on  the  inside  of  the  skin.  I  then  searched 
till  I  found  a  moose  wood  tree  and  peeled  some  long  strips 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  41 

of  the  bark  from  it,  I  then  rolled  the  skin  up  in  as  small 
a  compass  as  possible,  with  the  bear  meat  inside,  and 
carefully  tied  it  with  the  bark. 

I  swung  the  skin  over  my  right  shoulder,  took  my  gun 
in  my  left  hand  and  turned  my  face  homeward.  I  had 
three  miles  to  go  and  a  heavy  load  to  carry.  But  I  had 
killed  a  bear  and  was  young  and  strong  as  an  ox,  and 
just  as  the  sun  sank  out  of  sight,  away  off  over  Lake  On- 
tario, I  stepped  into  my  father's  house,  hungry  and  tired, 
but  I  had  killed  a  bear. 

All  my  family,  including  my  father,  who  was  an  old 
hunter,  wondered  and  listened  to  my  story  of  the  capture 
with  great  interest. 

Thus  it  was  that  I  had  followed  information  conveyed 
to  me  in  a  dream  and  found  the  information  correct. 

Just  at  this  moment,  my  father  arose  and  reached  for 
his  gun.  I  looked  at  him  and  saw  him  drop  his  head  and 
turn  his  right  ear  toward  "  Old  Dick's  Slash."  He  put 
his  left  hand  out  toward  me  and  I  heard  the  sound  come 
from  his  lips  which  always  denoted  silence  and  caution, 
"  sh."  His  right  hand  held  his  gun  at  a  point  just  below 
the  muzzle  and  the  breech  rested  on  the  ground.  The 
old  ancient  trees  of  the  original  forest  were  all  about  us 
and  waters  of  "  South  Branch  "  just  off  to  our  left.  The 
autumn  sun  sent  its  beautiful  light  down  through  the 
trees  even  to  his  feet. 


42  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

At  first  I  did  not  hear  a  single  sound,  except  the  soft 
rattle  of  the  partly  dried  leaves  on  the  trees  and  ground 
which  moved  in  the  slight  breeze  which  was  stirring. 
Very  soon,  however,  I  heard  a  slow,  regular  sound  which 
appeared  to  come  from  the  direction  we  had  intended  to 
go.  It  at  first  seemed  like  the  sound  made  by  a  fowl  in 
the  yard  when  he  stretches  his  neck  up  and  flops  his 
wings  against  his  body,  only  the  sound  seemed  loud  and 
regular.  The  first  beats  were  slow  but  they  grew  faster 
and  faster,  until  there  was  simply  one  continuous  rumble, 
which  was  a  little  like  low,  distant  thunder. 

The  noise  stopped  and  I  said,  "It  is  going  to  rain, 
that  is  thunder."  I  saw  father's  handsome  lips  part  and 
form  into  a  beautiful  smile  and  he  said,  "No,  my  boy, 
that  noise  is  made  by  a  partridge,  he  was  drumming  and 
you  will  hear  him  again  soon."  Sure  enough  the  low, 
regular,  curious  sound  commenced  again.  It  grew  louder 
and  louder  till  the  whole  woods  seemed  to  be  filled  with 
it,  when  it  died  away  again  and  we  could  hear  no  sound 
except  the  wind  among  the  leaves  and  the  musical  gurgle 
of  the  water  in  the  creek,  as  it  went  in  and  out  among  the 
alders  on  its  way  towards  the  lake. 

Father  said,  "  That  is  a  grand  old  father  partridge. 
They  do  not  often  drum  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  this  one 
evidently  feels  proud  that  the  summer  is  past  and  his 
children,  the  young  birds,  have  lived  and  grown  up  and 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  43 

are  very  likely  within  hearing  now,  looking  for  berries  for 
food  or  playing  in  the  sunshine  and  soft  leaves,  as  they 
like  to  do.  Then,  too,  the  old  fellow  probably  thinks  he 
is  a  good  drummer  and  he  desires  to  make  a  reputation 
by  furnishing  music  to  all  the  birds  hereabout.  I  do  not 
know  that  all  this  is  true,  but  probably  it  is.  We  will  try 
and  get  near  enough  to  him  to  see  the  performance  and 
perhaps  we  may  get  the  old  fellow,  cunning  as  he  is.  I 
think  I  know  where  he  is  and  it  is  nearly  in  the  direction 
I  intended  to  go  anyway." 

So  the  old  gourd  cup  was  carefully  hung  on  the 
branches  near  the  spring  so  it  would  be  here  at  some  fu- 
ture time  and  for  our  needs.  Father  started  on  toward 
the  point  where  the  drumming^had  come  from  and  I  no- 
ticed he  stepped  carefully.  Witrf  dead  leaves  and  small 
dry  brush  all  about  I  could  not  see  how  he  could  walk 
and  make  so  little  noise.  He  seemed  to  put  his  toes  down 
first  and  glide  along  as  quietly  as  a  shadow  almost.  I 
followed  after  him  as  still  as  I  could,  but  with  all  my  care 
I  made  more  noise  than  he  did.  We  soon  came  to  the 
margin  of  "  Old  Dick's  Slash."  Here  the  great  tall  trees 
ended  and  we  stepped  in  among  the  second  growth  of 
maple,  beech  and  birch  trees.  These  little  trees  were 
from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  tall  and  not  very  thick.  The 
frost  here  had  been  able  to  reach  the  leaves  more  thor- 
oughly and  there  were  few  leaves  left  except  down  near 


44  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

the  ground.  Now  and  then  there  was  an  old  tree  or  log 
lying  in  the  way,  and  take  it  all  in  all  it  was  a  most  beau- 
tiful cover  for  birds. 

Just  as  we  stepped  in  among  this  second  growth,  father 
stopped  and  his  left  hand  came  back  toward  me  with  the 
movement  which  meant  silence.  The  old  bird  commenced 
again  and  I  saw  father  bend  a  little  forward,  grasping  his 
gun  in  his  right  hand.  As  soon  as  the  noise  of  the  drum- 
ming was  loud,  father  stepped,  to  the  little  hemlock.  It 
seemed  to  me  he  made  no  noise  at  all.  I  followed  and 
reached  him  just  as  the  bird  was  winding  up  his  concert. 
I  got  along  very  well  except  at  one  point  I  stepped  on  a 
dry  twig  and  it  made  a  little  crackling  sound.  When  I 
reached  father,  he  was  on  his  hands  and  knees  right  be- 
hind the  little  evergreen  and  his  gun  lay  at  his  side.  I 
lay  prone  beside  him  and  to  his  left.  When  I  looked  for 
the  old  tree  trunk  on  which  we  had  supposed  the  partridge 
concerts  had  taken  place  and  where  we  hoped  to  see  the 
bird,  there  it  was  in  plain  sight,  its  whole  length  from  root 
to  limbs,  but  no  bird  was  to  be  seen.  I  thought  at  first  I 
had  probably  over-looked  him  and  so  I  carefully  searched 
every  foot  of  the  old  tree,  but  there  was  no  bird  there. 

Father  then  turned  toward  me  and  whispered  very 
low,  "  The  cunning  fellow  heard  that  noise  you  made 
when  you  stepped  on  that  bush,  but  he  has  not  flown  or 
we  should  have  heard  him.  He  has  just  stepped  off  on 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN.  45 

the  other  side  of  the  log  and  run  a  little  ways  out  in  the 
bush  and  if  we  keep  perfectly  still  here  until  he  gets  over 
his  fright  and  suspicions,  he  will  come  back  to  his  old 
place  and  execute  another  piece." 

We  waited  five  minutes  nearly  and  all  the  time  I  could 
hear  my  heart  beat  and  feel  my  shirt  and  jacket  move  by 
the  throbs.  Sure  enough,  we  heard  a  little  sound  and 
looked  away  down  toward  the  top  of  the  old  tree  and  the 
bird  had  just  jumped  from  the  ground  upon  the  tree  ;  the 
noise  of  his  feet  made  what  I  heard.  He  stood  there  as 
still  as  a  rock,  facing  us  for  as  much  as  half  a  minute,  and 
then  he  turned  in  a  sort  of  stately  way  toward  the  old  root 
and  commenced  to  walk  along  the  log ;  now  and  then  he 
would  stop  and  stand  perfectly  still  and  then  walk  on. 
He  was  the  handsomest  bird  I  ever  saw.  He  was  as  proud 
as  a  peacock.  There  was  a  black  ruffle  of  feathers  about 
his  neck  and  he  stood  up  as  straight  and  trim  as  could  be. 

The  dog  "Snap"  was  lying  between  father  and  me, 
and  he  saw  the  bird,  but  he  put  his  nose  down  between 
his  paws,  and  turned  first  to  father,  and  then  to  me,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "Give  it  to  him."  Pretty  quick  I  saw 
both  of  the  bird's  wings  raise  from  his  body  together. 
The  wings  were  not  open  as  fully  as  when  flying,  but 
only  partly  open.  He  just  lifted  them,  and  struck  his 
own  body  with  them.  At  first  the  movements  were  very 
slow,  and  then  faster  and  faster,  until  the  wings  looked 


46  THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK  GUN. 

like  a  fast  revolving  wheel.  Whew !  what  a  noise  he  did 
make  though ! 

After  the  performance,  the  bird  walked  five  or  six 
feet  away,  and  fairly  strutted  as  he  went.  I  saw  father's 
right  hand  move  toward  Bhis  gun.  His  fingers  grasped 
the  stock  and  barrel  of  the  old  "smooth  bore,"  and,  in 
a  flash,  it  was  at  his  face,  all  cocked  and  ready.  A 
second,  and  then  a  flash  and  roar,  and  lots  of  smoke, 
and  I  heard  a  fluttering,  and  the  dog,  "Snap,"  was 
gone.  It  was  but  a  moment,  when  the  dog  brought,  and 
laid  down  at  our  side,  the  dead  body  of  the  famous  drum- 
mer of  "Old  Dick's  Slash." 

Father  said,  "You  seem  astonished  at  something — 
what  is  it?"  I  said,  "I  suppose  the  partridge  hit  the  log 
with  his  wings  when  he  drummed?"  "Oh,  no,"  said 
father,  "If  you  will  think  a  moment,  you  will  see  that 
would  not  do,  for  he  would  thrash  his  wings  all  to  pieces 
in  no  time."  After  father  had  loaded  his  gun,  we  started 
in  the  direction  of  home,  which  was  not  more  than  a 
mile  away.  Father  said,  "We  have  had  a  delightful 
day,  and  have  done  well,  too,  for  we  now  have  two 
partridges,  a  wood-cock,  and  a  black  squirrel.  We  shall, 
very  likely,  find  no  more  game  to-night,  for  the  sun  is 
well  down,  and  we  must  hurry  home,  and  help  do  the 
chores.  We  will,  like  good  hunters,  however,  walk 
through  the  woods,  as  far  as  we  can,  on  our  way  home, 
and  we  may  shoot  a  partridge  or  two,  yet,  to-night." 


THE   OLD   PILL-LOCK   GUN.  47 

We  soon  reached  the  town-line  road.  We  followed 
the  road  only  a  short  distance,  and  then  stepped  into  the 
first  tall  sugar  maples,  beeches  and  hemlocks,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  way.  What  grand  old  trees  they  were. 
There  they  had  grown  for  centuries,  and  would  grow  for 
centuries  longer,  if  man  and  his  axe  would  let  them 
alone. 

I  heard  the  lonesome  and  musical  song  of  a  bird.  It 
appeared  to  be  but  part  of  a  tune.  It  was  something 
like  this  in  sound:  "Tee  we  wee,  Tee  we  wee,"  and 
seemed  to  be  from  a  single  bird.  I  asked  father  what 
kind  of  a  bird  it  was,  and  he  said,  "  That  is  what  I  call 
a  wood  thrush,  and  he  sings  that  lonesome  song  just 
before  a  rain.  You  may  look  out  for  rain  to-morrow." 

We  soon  passed  through  the  sugar  bush  and  cane  and 
came  out  into  a  sort  of  half  cleared  strip  of  land,  just  be- 
yond which  was  an  old  brush  fence  and  just  beyond  the 
old  brush  fence  were  ten  or  twelve  acres  of  underbrush 
which  extended  to  the  pasture.  As  we  stepped  up  to  this 
old  brush  fence  the  dog  jumped  upon  it  and  off  on  the 
other  side  and  screamed  as  he  went.  In  a  moment  there 
was  a  babel  of  noise  from  the  wings  of  three  partridges  as 
they  rose  from  the  ground  where  they  had  been  rolling 
and  playing  in  the  dirt  like  hens. 

The  birds  were  astonished  and  so  were  we.  One  of 
the  partridges  said,  "  Quit,  quit,  quit !  "  and  lighted  on 


48  THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

the  limb  of  a  tree  right  in  sight.  The  branch  on  which 
the  bird  rested  bent  down  quite  a  little.  I  recollect  seeing 
the  bird  light  and  set  there  among  the  leaves  and  then 
father's  gun  was  discharged  and  down  she  came.  The  dog 
brought  the  partridge  over  the  fence  to  father.  One  of 
the  other  birds  flew  past  us  into  the  woods  and  made  for 
a  clump  of  small  hemlocks  about  twenty  rods  back  on  the 
road  we  had  come. 

Father  said  to  me,  "  That  bird  went  toward  those 
hemlocks  and  this  late  hour  of  the  day  is  favorable  to  her 
lighting  in  the  first  good  hide  she  comes  to.  You  go  and 
look  those  hemlocks  over  one  by  one  carefully  and  you 
will  be  very  likely  to  find  her.  I  will  look  for  the  other 
one  that  went  off  here  to  the  right." 

-  Then  it  was  that  I  started  on  my  first  real  hunt  alone. 
I  went  along  quickly,  but  carefully,  towards  the  hem- 
locks. There  were  five  of  these  trees  in  a  group  and  from 
the  side  I  was  approaching  the  branches  were  so  thick 
(and  I  was  looking  toward  the  dark  thick  woods,  too,) 
that  I  could  not  see  the  parts  of  the  trees  where  the  bird 
would  be  likely  to  light.  I  went  way  round  the  bunch  of 
hemlock  until  I  could  look  into  them  from  the  woods  side 
and  toward  the  light  of  the  west.  The  light  was  growing 
a  little  dim  for  the  sun  was  sinking  down  close  to  the 
horizon,  but  my  eyes  were  good  then. 

I  carefully  examined  every  branch  on  the  tree  next  to 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN.  49 

me,  and  then  the  next,  and  found  no  partridge.  I  began 
to  feel  the  chances  were  slim  of  finding  the  bird  as  the 
best  trees  for  him  to  light  in  I  had  already  searched.  But 
I  commenced  to  examine  the  third  tree.  I  began  first  to 
scan  the  lower  limbs  and  my  eyes  passed  along  up  the 
tree  and  searched  each  limb  carefully.  When  my  eyes 
had  reached  two-thirds  to  the  top  of  the  tree  and  about 
thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  all  at  once  I  saw  the  old  part- 
ridge sitting  close  to  the  body  of  the  tree,  with  his  breast 
toward  me.  He  looked  as  big  as  a  goose  sure.  After  a 
second,  just  a  second,  my  wits  came  to  me  and  I  raised 
the  old  "  Pill-lock  "  to  my  face.  Some  how  I  had  cocked 
it  but  I  never  could  recollect  how  or  when. 

I  looked  straight  at  the  light  colored  feathers  of  the 
breast  and  pulled  the  trigger.  The  gun  made  an  awful 
noise  and  turned  me  half  'round.  It  gave  out  a  long 
stream  of  fire  and  lots  of  smoke.  I  remember  hearing  the 
noise  of  the  discharge  as  it  went  off  down  through  the  big 
maples  and  beeches.  I  never  will  forget  that  shot.  It 
took  me  about  a  good,  long  second  to  bring  myself  to- 
gether. I  looked  to  the  foot  of  the  tree  and  there  lay  the 
bird  dead  as  a  stone.  I  ran  where  he  was  and  picked 
him  up. 

That  was  one  of  the  proudest  moments  I  have  ever 
known  in  my  life.  I  turned  my  face  toward  the  sky,  and 
gave  a  halloo  of  joy  and  victory.  Just  then  the  dog 


50  THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN. 

came  to  me  in  a  bound — to  see  what  all  the  noise  was 
about,  I  suppose.  I  held  the  bird  down  to  the  spaniel, 
and  he  looked  up  in  my  face  and  whined,  and  moved  his 
tail,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well,  that  is  good  enough." 

I  went  along  out  to  where  father  was.  I  had  the  old 
"  Pill-lock"  in  one  hand,  still  smoking,  and  the  part- 
ridge in  the  other.  There  were  logs  and  bushes  in  my 
road,  but  I  say  to  you,  here  and  now,  that  I  did  not  re- 
member stepping  over  either  logs  or  brush. 

I  held  up  to  father's  gaze  the  partridge,  and  he  said, 
"  Well,  well,  you  have  done  it  sure.  That  is  a  fine  bird, 
and  it  was  a  lucky  venture  when  you  went  after  him. 
You  are  all  right  now,  and  shall  go  hunting  again  with 
me." 

We  passed  down  through  the  under-brush  and  out 
into  the  pasture  by  the  spring,  east  of  our  house.  As 
we  came  in  sight  of  home,  the  sun  was  below  the  western 
hills,  but  had  left  a  glow,  which  marked  the  spot  plainly 
above  it. 

Near  the  house,  on  the  platform  by  the  well,  looking 
toward  us,  stood  my  mother.  Her  right  hand  was  shad- 
ing her  eyes  and  she  appeared  to  be  watching  for  us 
anxiously.  When  I  came  near  enough  to  see  her  plainly 
she  was  smiling  a  happy  welcome  to  father  and  me.  Her 
dark  hair  was  well  brushed  back  from  her  face,  which 
glowed  with  happiness.  Her  features  were  as  calm,  pure 
and  sweet  as  are  given  to  mortal  to  be. 


THE   OLD    PILL-LOCK   GUN.  53 

It  seemed  to  me  then,  and  seems  to  me  now,  that  she 
was  the  grandest,  sweetest  and  best  woman  in  all  the 
world. 

I  ran  ahead  of  father  when  I  saw  her  and  as  I  came  near 
I  held  up  my  partridge.  She  reached  out  both  her  hands 
and  I  thought,  as  much  as  could  be,  she  was  going  to 
take  the  bird,  but  she  grasped  me,  and  drew  me  close  up 
to  her,  and  kissed  me  again  and  again.  For  a  sweet 
moment  I  forgot  my -hunt  and  my  success,  and  the  whole 
world,  in  the  love  of  my  mother. 

I  have  told  you  the  history  of  one  day  out  of  seven- 
teen thousand,  and,  if  you  are  pleased  with  it,  I  will  tell 
you  about  a  trout-fishing  trip  I  had  the  next  spring,  with 
my  father,  along  the  waters  of  the  "  South  Branch  of 
the  Little  Salmon." 


SJlPSSS 


'' 


M313085 


